


Seeker's Pet

by kinky digamma (periferal)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bondage, Dom Cassandra Pentaghast, F/M, Hand Jobs, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Mind Control, Mindfuck, Misuse of the Conduit, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Hand Jobs, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Magic, Sub Inquisitor, misuse of magic, non-consensual magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 19:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18267677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periferal/pseuds/kinky%20digamma
Summary: Maxwell Trevelyan does not appreciate the gravity of the situation he's found himself in the middle of, and tries to leave.Cassandra makes sure he never plans on going anywhere ever again.





	Seeker's Pet

**Author's Note:**

> So is this better or worse than the Castlevania blood kink?
> 
> HEED THE TAGS. 
> 
> SERIOUSLY. HEED THE TAGS. They're a tad overkill (though hopefully I will write more intense stuff later?) but seriously there is non-con and Cassandra being a dom and it's great.

Maxwell Trevelyan woke up on his knees, groggy enough that it took him longer than he would have liked to realize that he was in what his three self-appointed advisors called the war room. The room, usually lit by torches, was instead lit by a dim magical glow.

He groaned, his whole body aching. The last thing he remembered was trying to leave Haven, having mentioned to a guard that he really ought to find some way to return to his family, now that the main rift had been dealt with. The demons crawling across the Hinterlands (and elsewhere) were of course a problem, but not necessarily _his_ problem. Ferelden had done just fine during the Blight and would do just fine now.

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast stood over him. She looked murderous, which was about as confusing as why exactly he was in this circumstance in the first place.

“We just need to stop meeting like this,” he said, looking up at her. The lines between her brows furrowed as her glare intensified. If she had wanted to kill him before, she was now fantasizing about slow-cooking his insides. Humor was not the right tack, then.

“You were caught trying to leave,” she said. “Have you forgotten your purpose?”

He shrugged, putting his hands on the ground in front of him. He was still a little woozy, but he would stand up and smooth over whatever misunderstanding had led to this. He might not have spent much time with his family since his magic had been discovered, but he did know how to get himself out of a bad situation. “I know you think I’m some Herald of Andraste, but all I know is that House Trevelyan would do very well if word got out we were the only ones who could heal the rifts.”

Her expression went slack with shock for a moment, before her anger returned with a vengeance. “Right,” she said, clapping her hands together with enough abruptness that it startled him, knocking Maxwell slightly off balance. “It seems I was correct; you have lived up to all my worst expectations. I did not wish to do this, but—” She trailed off. He ignored her.

Just as Maxwell got to his feet, his mark flared, just as hot and painful as that first time less than a day before. He cried out in shock, falling heavily to his knees once more.

“I thought it was stabilized!”

“Yes,” the Seeker said. She smiled. “It was.”

There was something she wasn’t saying, something Maxwell was not getting.

“What are you doing?” Trevelyan demanded. Again, he tried to stand, and again the mark flared, forcing him to his knees.

“Making sure you do what is necessary,” she said. “I do not know the apostate Solas well, but it strikes me as impressive that you angered him so much, he agreed to help me bind you.” She smiled. Trevelyan, for the first time, felt something like fear. “He seems the type to sympathize with his fellow mages over all else, do you not think?”

“What are you going to do to me?” he asked, too afraid to stand. She wouldn’t get away with this, he would let his family know and they would send people to crack Haven wide open.

“Don’t worry,” a voice Trevelyan recognized as belonging to the Orlesian Josephine Montilyet said. “You’ll enjoy this, eventually.”

There was no pain or blow to the head that he could see. Just one moment he was awake, and the next he was not.

* * *

 

Trevelyan once more woke up on his knees.

He was bound hand to foot, and somewhere between losing and regaining consciousness he had lost his clothes. He was not as cold as he might have expected, considering. He was gagged, but not blindfolded.

He looked up to see Pentaghast, dressed but out of her armor, watching him carefully.

“Are you going to behave?” she asked. She was almost smiling.

The way she looked at him like he was nothing made him shiver. It was cold, then, he decided.

If he could just move his hands, he thought, focus for just a moment on his magic, he could still escape.

He did not react to Pentaghast’s question, all of his attention on freeing his hand. His distraction meant he did not even register that she had expected an answer until she abruptly grabbed his face, her blunt nails digging in his chin.

“I asked you a question,” she said. “Are you going to behave?”

Maxwell tried to shake his head but could not. _Fuck you_ , he thought, but could not say.

He let out a surprised moan as the mark flared again. The sensation of it had changed and spread up his wrist, and it took him a strangely longer time to gather his thoughts. Breathing heavily from the unexpected sensation, he stared up at Pentaghast.

She let go of his chin.

He nodded quickly and dropped his head, unable to meet her gaze.

She grabbed his face again. “No,” she said. “You are going to look at me.”

“She’s holding back.” Maxwell would have tried to look where Montilyet was, but Pentaghast did not let go of him. “I told her it wouldn’t do if we broke the Herald of Andraste this early.”

“We have healers,” Pentaghast said simply. “I have seen first hand the wonders of that sort of magic.”

“And they would have questions,” Montilyet said. She sounded amused, more than anything.  

Maxwell used their mutual distraction to take a look around himself. He was in someone’s private rooms, he thought. He realized, as he looked down, that he was in the center of a complicated magical circle.

Neither woman holding him was a mage, he was certain of it. How badly had he pissed off the elven apostate? Sure, he had made a few too many assumptions, but he was only human. Surely, he could be forgiven for so slight a blunder.

“By the end of this, I won’t have to hurt you to make you do and say what I want,” Pentaghast said. “You’ll do as I say because you want to be good for us.”

Maxwell flushed as he realized what kind of reaction he was having to Pentaghast’s words.

She knelt in front of him, still taller than him, and he gasped around the gag as she took his already hard cock in hand.

“I suppose this is technically blood magic,” she said. “In the barest sense. But things have changed, and it seems we must make do with what the Maker gave us.”

Maxwell whimpered, his eyes squeezing shut as Pentaghast quickened her pace. Through the fog of shame and arousal in his mind, he could sense some kind of magic pooling around himself, but he was too addled to figure out what exactly what was happening. Soon enough, that sort of thing wouldn’t matter much to him anyway.

His eyes fell shut; another pulse from the mark made them open again as his whole body jolted. This was not, some dim part of him thought, at all how that thing was meant to be used.

“You will look at me,” Pentaghast said. “Do not make me repeat myself.

He (finally) came with a muffled shout, slumping forwards. Pentaghast smirked.

Something had changed, though he did not have the wherewithal to say what.

“You’ll be good for me—for us—yes?” Pentaghast asked. She undid the gag with surprising gentleness, and Maxwell went limp in his bonds as she cleaned him up.

“Yes,” Maxwell said. He meant it. Why wouldn’t he? He was hers, utterly and completely hers to command.

“Good,” Cassandra said. “Untie him.”

“Don’t worry,” Josephine said. “You’ll get just enough of your mind back to know why we can never trust you with all of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you want more with this scenario, or similar stuff with different pairings/inquisitors!


End file.
